


Sign

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-14
Updated: 2004-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

It was ten o'clock on a saturday and the dimming lightbulb cast a sad, strange yellow glow around the patrons in the run down bar. It wasn't the nicest place but for those that want to just forget, it does just fine. A man shuffled into the aging bar and bought a shot of whiskey. "To drown the memories." He saud. I didn't want to tell him that pain can swim. He came and sat down next to me. I could tell he was trying to drink it away. As if that ever really worked. He ordered another shot and I could feel the rumble of the subway beneath the wooden floor boards. He looks at me and lets out a sad sigh. His eyes are screaming but his lips are pursed. He downs the shot quickly and I offer to buy him another. He laughs callously and says that it's not his first heart ache. And he takes the drink but pauses and adds, "But...it feels like...it feels like the worst..." His voice had softened from either the amount of alcohol. Or from memories. And he turns to face me and I can see the unshed pain he refuses to let fall. "Can someone tell me how this can happen? Though I guess God only knows....My heart used to be the sweet shop of love...but now the sign on the door just says 'I'm sorry we're closed.'" And I hear myself tell him some old words I had heard before in some old nickelodeon. But I know they won't help, these sad words won't help to ease the pain. But I feel guilty because, I've closed some sweet shops myself. "Maybe it should never have happened at all. Or maybe it should have happened earlier. And I wish I could just make myself wish to have never met him, but it does my heart an injustice." And then we talk about timing and love and if there is such a thing in this pitiful world. But to a heart that's been shattered, I suppose these feeble words don't mean much. He swirled his drank and grabbed at his heart, as if he could feel the leftover shards stabbing him on the inside and he choked back a sob. "Maybe it was my fault for not reading the signs. Maybe it was me for not being able to see that he wouldn't be able to love back. But, even so, I can't will myself to wish I had never loved him. So I guess it just goes to show that even with all of our efforts to love, you should never enter a shop with a sign on the door saying 'Sorry We're closed'". I could tell he was barely holding on. The man's pride refused to let him breakdown. And all I could say was how sorry I was. More feeble words that wouldn't amount to much to soothe the man's hurt. And he's been through all the pain that one man can endure. And he says his broken heart still pines for the man that broke it, but he can't let himself give in. "And so, I guess I just have to hang up a sign in the door saying we're close; yes that's how it goes." ANd I want to know if someone can tell me how this can happen. How one man can be left such an empty, broken soul and still call himself alive. And I guess God only knows. And I see the man turn away as one of his hopes fall and splash against the bar. I turn my head for I know to well how the heart ache can be. And as I glance back at the young man, finally giving in to the pain and letting it wash down onto the bar and onto the shot, still left on the bar. And it saddens me that the world has forced this young man to have to hang up a sign in the door saying 'Sorry We're Closed."' And I cry silently to myself for I know the pain all too well. And now there's one more sign. It's ten o'clock on a Saturday night and one more man's hopes are shattered in the eerie yellow haze of a bar.


End file.
